


If when I see you

by Unknown_Sources



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Background Sonya and Mary because they’re so adorable, Domestic Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Minor Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Smut, Sorry for hurting them, Suicide Attempt, all acknowledge their wrongs, and all will be welllllllllllllll, everyone is quite madly in love with Hélène, hopeless romantic ghost club, please be kind, precious beans, time for CHURCH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown_Sources/pseuds/Unknown_Sources
Summary: In the aftermath of the terrible night, all reflect on their wrongdoings.All masks fall off, there is only room for the hard Moscow reality and the past is catching upIf only they could see that it only would be the start.
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Marya "Mary" Nikolaevna Bolkonskaya/Sofia "Sonya" Alexandrovna Rostova, Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 18
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think in the comments!  
> This is my first atempt at fanfic, please be kind

“Marya? MARYA! Where are you?!” 

Hélène woke up that morning in a pool of sweat, tears and blood. Marya. Is Marya safe? She looked to the other side of the bed. There was no Marya to be seen, only her stupid husband. Just by looking at him, the memory of the past night hit her. Pierre was still sleeping it off. Oh dear, this hadn’t happened. Why did she allow it? Every part of her body was aching, but she needed to go. She couldn’t spend any more time with this… thing. His smell made her want to throw up. She needed to forget, but how could she? She deserved this. She had betrayed her lover, pushed away her husband and let go of both Dolokhov and her brother. She was alone now in this world.

Hélène looked again at Pierre. She knew why he had done this, and she couldn’t hate him for it. But she knew she would never forgive him. She had begged, begged for it all to stop, but even then he continued. Not caring about her or her feelings. She knew she had lost them all, the only people she ever cared about. How she wished to be free from all of this. 

Pierre let out a little grunt. Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. She needed to do something, needed to get out of this room that strangled her. The room smelled of a mixture of alcohol and blood and it only made her stomach turn even more. She climbed out of the bed and stumbled through the hallway like a ghost. Her eyes were tortured by the faint light. Walking was more a question of feeling rather than looking. She noticed the little cracks in the walls, her fingers ripping on the hard surface. She felt the darkness lurking around the corner. Just a few steps more and she would be in the safety of her own chamber. Unfortunately, the dark reached her earlier.

§

Hélène awoke with her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t even remember making it to the bed. The only memories she had, were of the rage, the pain and defeat. There seemed to be only pain. In her core, her body, everything seemed to ache. Even her mind was busy, trying to process everything. It was all too much. She needed to move, needed to get rid of this feeling. She felt awful. She had no idea what day it was. When she looked through her window, she could see it was still dark outside. How long did she sleep? Her sweat had turned cold. How long had it been? She hated being unconscious for so long. So much could have happened in the time while she was … , and still she was so tired. 

She felt so weak, but worse of all, dirty. A bath might help? She didn’t think she had the power to stand up, but she would try. A wave of dizziness hit her immediately when she tried to get out of her bed. She fell on the floor. At this point, there was no holding back anymore, her tears were streaming down her face. What a mess. What a fucking mess. Her carefully constructed mask was breaking apart and she couldn’t stand it. Even here, even now, alone in her room, she felt the need to be perfect. She heard someone running in the hallway, but all she could do was cry and cry. She wept for everything she had lost that night. She dreaded the future; everything was in ruin. She heard keys in the lock and with that a servant appeared.  
“Are you all right, my lady?”  
Hélène had neither the guts nor the strength to answer. She didn’t want to be seen, she wanted to hide and die. She hated herself for everything. Without her clothes and masks, she felt utterly naked. She didn’t want to look at the maid, so she kept her head down. Go away, please, go away.  
“Oh my, what happened? Come here, it’s fine. Please, calm down.” The servant feared the countess, but knew that she was needed now.  
She took the countess in her arms, hoping for the best. Hélène felt totally useless, all she could do was let her. For once, Hélène allowed herself this moment. The maid was surprised when she felt the countess presence closer than ever. Hélène didn’t want to be held, not by her, so she pushed her away. She was losing her face in front of a servant. This was never meant to happen. She pulled herself together and tried to get up, but failed. It was then the maid noticed the stains and bruises.  
“What are you looking at?”, Hélène spoke through her tears.  
She didn’t hate this poor girl, but the way she looked at her made her feel horrible. She didn’t even have to look at herself to know it was terrible. Her beauty had once been her strongest pawn in the twisted games of society, but look at her now.  
“Euhm, nothing Madame, I am sorry Madame.” The poor girl didn’t know what to do. It was clearly visible on her face.  
“I shall make you a bath, Madame. It will make you feel better.” The servant left, happy to be out of the room.  
Hélène crawled back to the bed and climbed in it. Her whole body was shaking of exhaustion and her sweat was staining her skin. She hated everything about this. This was all his fault. She felt her breathing fasten and tried to control it but her efforts were in vain. Her tears were back, but this time, they were in control. She didn’t sob nor weep, the tears just rolled down her face. She was cracked and hated herself for it, hated them all for it. There was a silence in the house. The only thing one could hear were hasty footsteps walking to and fro. 

Once the bath was filled with hot water, Hélène tried to stand up, but failed once again. Failing was all she seemed to do; she failed Anatole, Dolokhov, Marya, Natasha, Sonya and even Pierre. She was so tired of it all. Even though she didn’t want to move, she also needed to be clean.  
“Madame, please, let me help you.”  
Hélène couldn’t speak yet; a big lump began to form in her throat. Even the thought of saying something out loud made her want to gargle. The maid helped her on her feet and supported her to the bathroom. At their destination, Hélène let herself drop on a chaise. The five steps she had taken had tired her badly. She wanted to cry again, but told herself she would not. It took all her willpower not to lay down and never stand back up again. She stood once more and allowed the maid to undo the scraps of fabric that remained on her body. She had never felt so exposed before, she hated it. It was something different than the bare shoulders and exposed neck she was so used to. This wasn’t her choice. Her skin was bare to whatever was coming. She felt so unprepared for everything, it made her dread her future even more. She never thought that things could get that bad that quickly. One little choice, one small action, one coincidence of thought, and the lights went out before her eyes, until there was nothing left she could do. She had put on her armor and sword, but they didn’t work this time. She felt the gentle hands of the maid on her back, moving her in the direction of the bath. She suddenly shivered, for she hadn’t realized how cold her body had become. She could see the steam of the hot water, vaporizing in front of her. Quietly, she wished she could do the same. But even the water won’t last. 

She took a gentle step in the water. It was slightly burning her, but she didn’t mind. It was the distraction she desperately needed. It was only now – being soaked in the hot water – that she realized how filthy she was. The dirt and the blood were piling up on the surface of the water. She was laying in an artwork of her own demises. Once the servant saw Hélène had settled down, she left. Just before she left to do her other chores, she could hear a gentle whisper.  
“Thank you, Sasha.” It made her blush.  
Hélène knew she needed to be alone, but she wished she had someone else to be alone with her. She closed her eyes and let the vapor take her on, out of this room. Into the warmth of deep. 

§

The way the water gave way to her body was reminiscent of her childhood. How she and Anatole would get in the carriage on a hot summer day. They would drive for hours but didn’t mind at all. The whole drive would be filled with anticipation. The siblings couldn’t wait to escape the twisted ways of society. All those masks and make-believes were boring to them. The countryside promised more freedom then their father usually allowed, and that freedom they claimed eagerly. Not a day passed where you would find the two of them bored indoors. If the weather allowed it, they were outdoors: running down hills, playing hide and seek and so on. 

Most of all, her bath made Hélène think of the little creek that slithered its way through the family estate. How they would play in the cold water until their young bodies shivered. How innocent everything seemed. Now there was always a reason, a threat. When she was younger, she would sit at the shore and just wait, listening to the flow. The sound of breaking, but also its retreat. She would stare at the bend where the water seemed to stream into oblivion. It made her think of some fairy tale, how she could run off and disappear.  
She could hear her father say: ‘Stop those childish vanities. Strap on some courage, you know your place.’ Even then, she knew she couldn’t escape. While she was lost in her thoughts, Anatole would usually come up to her and throw some water at her. 

She loved how safe she felt in the water. How it would wrap itself around her but didn’t quite suffocate her. It welcomed her, it savored her. The water never seemed afraid to touch her, but neither was it ever greedy. Even now at her most damaged and broken, it was touching her. 

Anatole always thought she was weird for her love of water. That boy always wanted more. He had pushed her in those waters many times, but she couldn’t help but love him for it. He made fun of her, teased her, but she loved him, nevertheless. And — if she had to confess — she also had her fair share of mischief. Everything was easier back then. Even their father seemed less on edge when they returned to the summer estate with soaked clothes. He would still be mad but there was usually a smile lurking on his face. It was the same smile she and her brother had inherited. The same smile which had revolted something in her husband, her stupid husband. 

She didn’t dare to think of it. The water, Hélène, focus on the water. She closed her eyes and found herself back at the river. Everything was possible. She knew the river would guide her to the sea, and after that, to the ocean. If she just allowed herself to let go. Back then, she didn’t allow it, but now she would. She let her body sink into the deep, not really knowing what she was seeking there. Maybe safety? It felt like there was finally no one watching her anymore. She felt like she had lost her body somewhere else. Her feet won't fail her now and her arms won't let her down. It was only her in a sea of nothingness. She thought of all the people she loved. Their hearts will heal and they will learn how to love again. With that last thought she let go. She set open her lungs and felt the water seeping in. 

She didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to make a noise, but unfortunately, she couldn’t help it. Something was holding her back. Hélène panicked. She didn’t want to breathe but she needed to. The water was trashing everywhere. She had thought she was too exhausted to fight, yet here she was. The maid stormed in, pulling her above the water. 

“Madame, are you alright? Can you hear me? Madame!” Sasha was wrapping her hands around her master’s frail body. Hélène’s lungs were on fire, she couldn’t talk. Her body was fighting her mind. She didn’t want to be held. Couldn’t this servant see the blue was calling her? She tried to get out of reach of those arms, grabbing her and claiming her. “AWAY! Go away!” She didn’t know who it was calling her, but they needed to go away. The voice alone was killing her. Water was splashing everywhere, but she didn’t see that. She didn’t see anything at all, everything was hidden in a dark blanket of rage and sadness. 

Sasha tried to speak again but Hélène cried out: “Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!”  
The hands wouldn’t stop coming, dragging her out. They seemed everywhere. She felt like a child, but truly couldn’t stop herself. It all was too much. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe and couldn’t stop fighting. She was being dragged out of the safe waters.  
Sasha was afraid. She knew the countess’ usual ways, but this was something different. This was something wild, even primal. So much blue and black and purple, the countess was covered in it. It seemed to devour her. But what was it? There had been whispers among the servants for some time, about violence in the Bezukhov household, but this… No, she couldn’t think of it. Sasha was sickened by the sight. Behind the blood and stains, was a woman, such a beautiful woman so… She couldn’t name what it was, wasn’t even sure that anybody could. In that moment she could she straight through that stubborn mask

Hélène had started to cry again. The maid wanted to hold her, if only the countess let her. She was completely intoxicated by the sight in front of her. All she wanted to do was to take the broken vision, and replace it with something else. 

“Come here, Hélène. Nobody will hurt you. Lay in my arms, please.”  
This shocked Hélène. The maid had said her name, her own name. All this familiarity… She wanted more, she needed this. With the help of the maid, she got out of the tub and wrapped herself in soft towels. She didn’t want to ask for help, or at least she knew she definitely shouldn’t. Even now, the strict rules of society were haunting her. 

She sat down at her vanity, looking not at herself but at the reflection of the tub behind her. The water had changed. It wasn’t the clean water she was so used to anymore. No, this water was stained, stained by her own demises. She was clean now, but there was still something so terribly wrong. Something had snapped. She felt the skilled hands of the maid in her hair and silently wished they were someone else’s. After getting dressed in a night robe, the two of them went back to the bedroom. Hélène was so tired, she fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. 

Sasha was worried, she didn’t want to leave the countess, not like this. She knew she had crossed a line calling the countess by her name. She didn’t want to anger the count even more and left, locking the door behind her. Even if it broke her heart, an order was an order. Thinking about it, Sasha decided she should probably check in on master Pierre, let him know what happened. She herself needed some answers too. She knew this probably wasn’t her best idea, but her curiosity won over her decorum. She could hear his heavy footsteps in his room. After a gentle knock on the door, Sasha heard the footsteps stop in their track, and after some silence: “Come in.” 

She opened the oaken door to the study. No going back now.  
“What’s wrong?” Pierre seemed sturdier than Sasha had ever seen him.  
“I am here to inform you the countess has had a bath. I did what you ordered me. But…”.  
“Sasha, what’s wrong?” 

The gentle maid began fidgeting after what she had seen. The warmth of the count had started to look like a deceiving mask, and she didn’t want to provoke him. She took her time measuring her words precisely. “Master, I do not wish to worry you, but I think the countess is in dire need for help.”  
For a moment Pierre feared, feared his mistake would be exposed to all of Moscow. 

“I am grateful you are worried, but I assure you, everything is fine. The countess just drank a little too much last night. And besides, she still hasn’t forgotten the banishment of her brother.”  
In Sasha’s mind this seemed to make sense. It was common knowledge the countess drank – a lot – and she did tell her they all despised her. Maybe she was talking about that scam of a brother of hers and his friend Dolokhov. She had trusted neither man. 

“Thank you, sir”, was all she said before she left Pierre alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t yet thought about it all, for he feared the memories. Now it all hit him. He walked over to his desk and poured himself some vodka. It didn’t seem to help anymore. The past was haunting him and quickly catching up. 

§

Pierre had woken up that morning to an empty bed. She was gone, once again. A fury hit him again, but his head was too dizzy to wander on the matter. He had done what needed to be done a long time ago. Maybe this all wouldn’t have happened. All those terrible things. 

Pierre sat up, staring at the window. It was clearly daytime already, but there was a strange darkness hanging in the air. There was snow covering everything. The coldness had even managed to manifest itself in the house. He needed to get out, needed to breathe. He stepped out of bed and made his way downstairs.  
In the hallway, he found his wife’s door was open. Had that monster once again managed to escape? He wouldn’t let her, not this time, and stormed into her room. He was stunned by what he saw. His wife, passed out on the ground. Hélène was a mess: her hair had broken free, her face showing signs of stained tears, her clothes were merely shreds. Her petite frame showed heavy signs of bruising. She was covered in blemishes. Her lips were chapped, and dried blood was still visible on numerous places on her body. He really didn’t want to stare but it was all he could do. What had he done? He could remember the fury and the hatred but this? Somewhere he heard the spirits of the Moscow ladies: “Il est charmant, il n’a pas du sexe…” For this couldn’t be the result of that, this was something twisted, this was blasphemy! 

Even now, she looked like a fallen angel, all broken on the floor. He tried to push it all away. Pierre wasn’t the most devoted man, but even he could see that this was utterly wrong. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes. What had he done? This was never what he wanted. His head was spinning so hard, it was all too much. 

He needed to do something; he couldn’t leave her in this state. He kneeled down beside her. Still so beautiful, even after all that had happened. Her body smooth like marble, now covered in harsh lines and strokes. He gently stroked her cheek. She was breathtaking, he couldn’t deny that. It was what had caught his eye the first time they had met. If only he hadn’t been so stupid… He gently began to lift her. Her body was ghastly light, he didn’t want to break her even more. The unconscious woman was now safe in his hands – but was she? Pierre knew that it was he who had done this, and he hated himself for it. Yet he couldn’t help but hate her too. Too much had happened between them. Too much for a fresh start. Still, he wanted to comfort her in some way. He cradled her in some twisted form of dance. After a while he slowly let her down on the bed, tucked her in and left.

Suddenly he was hit with a sufficient degree of terror. What if she left? He didn’t want to think of it, but he knew she would try to escape. Deep down he knew he would do the same in her position. But then again, Hélène always seemed to want to escape. She was always off with her scoundrel brother or that bastard Dolokhov. Those men revolted something inside of Pierre. But still… He couldn’t let her speak and roam free. She would gladly ruin everything for him, he knew all too well she had a habit of doing that. Always flirting, always underestimating him, there was always something. This woman was a demon indeed. The only solution he saw was keeping her here, with him. Keep her locked in the cage. Don't let her speak. He knew she would scream in this cage; she would shout. If it meant securing his future, he could just as well let her die for all she had done. No matter how much pleading. Don't let her out Pierre, don’t. And with that, Pierre locked the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update, I hope y'all like it.  
> You guys are incredably sweet, thank you for the support  
> Hélène isn't in this one, but is centered around Marya's world.

Everything was quiet for a moment in the Dmitryevna household. The girls were upstairs, both taking care of each other in their own ways. Marya knew they were safe now, even after all that had happened. For once, she allowed herself a moment of peace and quiet, and sat down on the grand sofa. She needed it badly, though she would never admit that. Earlier, she had sent home the servants, knowing all were in need of a bit of warmth right now. She poured herself some chamomile tea in her favorite teacup. It had been a present of a long lost time.

Many things flew through her mind. A ball, an abduction, an elopement, a suicide attempt and now newly melted hearts. She had seen both Natasha and Pierre's faces light up when they talked to each other. It gave her some hope, for Marya knew all too well from experience how cold Moscow could be sometimes. 

Pierre, her dear old friend. All of Moscow had their own perspective of that man. He was quite a figure. Always on edge somehow. Marya knew a side of him that not many people knew. But she could barely believe what she had seen with Natasha. Pierre had just completely melted by only the sight of her little girl. Marya knew that eavesdropping wasn’t exactly modest nor polite, but she couldn’t help it. It filled her with such warmth, seeing the two of them untroubled even after everything that had happened. A smile appeared on her face, smoothing out some of the worries of the past weeks. She knew she still needed to be careful of course. Natasha had let her heart take over the control before, and looked where that had brought them. They had both lost so many things. Marya prayed that God would have mercy on them. They deserved their happiness and peace, they all did. Except for a certain family. That nasty scoundrel… If she would get her hands on him, she would roast him alive.  
Her hands clenched her teacup hard. A sudden rage hit her when she thought about those siblings. It was the same rage she had felt on that horrible day. Those two had a way of always ruining a whole life for the sake of their own amusement. Those Kuragins. She couldn’t get rid of them, it seemed, not even in her own house. Them and that soldier boy who was always following them around, as much at ease as though he were in his own room.

That unmannered brute. Her grip on the teacup tightened even more. She could feel the heat of the water through the china but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her mind was miles away.

Hélène Vasilyevna Bezukhova. That name, that scandalous name. Everybody knew of that name. The eyes of Moscow were always on her. Waiting for the next rumor. Waiting for another malicious gossip. That woman had such a hate in her, mostly for her own husband. She was his wife, for goodness sake! Every night that woman spent away from her home made Marya’s repugnance grow even more.  
From the moment Pierre had introduced his wife, Marya noticed a bitter coldness between the two of them, a coldness that she herself knew all too well. She knew from that moment on that this marriage wasn’t Hélène’s doing. Hélène had told Marya that exact thing the first time they met. For how could it ever be your own doing, when you were a relative of Vasili Sergeevich Kuragin? That man was a snake in every sense of the word, always slithering around somebody else's business. Something which seemed to be hereditary.

Such a vile woman. Hélène and her husband were opposites in everything they were. All the vodka and wine all the time seemed to be the only thing they had in common. Both of them knew the bottom of the bottle well.

That woman had spoiled so many things, so many times. That woman revolted Marya in so many ways, more than she would ever like to admit. Hélène always seemed to crawl in through Marya’s corneas or under her skin. Always flirting, always writing, always begging; Marya had enough of it. That demon needed to get out of her. Out of her house, out of her life and out of her mind. Marya’s memories had a mean way of interrupting her own thoughts. Memories from every meeting they ever had; a wedding, a secret meeting, rage and… other stuff. The dance the two women had danced with each other was a complex one. 

Marya couldn’t hold it in anymore. A rage she had locked up for what seemed like four generations broke free. The sound coming from within her frightened her, it was like she wasn’t in control anymore. Before, she always seemed to know what to do, but now nothing would come. She was caught in her own storm. She didn’t want to calm down, she wanted to let the wind blow everything away.

Suddenly, she was caught by the heat in her hands and she dropped her teacup. Marya let out a surprised scream. Again it was so different from her usual strong and well-aimed words. She didn’t even seem capable of holding a simple cup together anymore. All those pieces on the ground. Above her own thoughts, she could hear footsteps. Marya, pull yourself together, you don’t have time for this. With that thought, Marya put back on her stoic mask and waited for whoever was coming. She had a suspicion as to who it would be. 

In the time her goddaughters had been with her, she had begun to love both of them equally. Natasha, that charming girl, had always had taken up a special place in her heart but she had never quite understood Sonya before. The girl was incredibly sweet and good but there was more to her than meets the eye. For some reason, she always seemed to care some heavy load with her. Marya realised she might have some responsibility in that. When Sonya first arrived, Marya hadn’t forgiven her for the whole Dolokhov affair. Now she knew that it had nothing to do with her. Sonya had simply done what needed to be done, as she always did. She was a good girl and as the weeks passed by, Marya began to see her more and more as one of her little girls. She’d not been kind to Sonya in the past, but somehow she wanted to make it right. She had grown to love her as if she were her own goddaughter.

Marya knew what people of Moscow thought of her: that she was an old stubborn woman. People were scared of her. “Le terrible dragon”. She had worked all her life for that nickname, but now it only seemed to do harm to the ones she loved. She would try, but her mask seemed to have rusted shut on her face. 

§

Sonya gently opened the door, not really knowing what to expect. She had heard a gentle scream. Everyone knew that Marya never screamed. Marya seemed fine when Sonya noticed her, but to be fair, she always did. She knows Marya would never admit it, but she could sense that something was wrong. Sonya didn’t know if it had something to do with Natasha. Yes, it had hit Marya hard, but there was more to it now. She could see it in her eyes. They carried a load but only if you looked into them for long enough.

For a long time the room remained silent. Both women staring at each other, speaking with only their eyes. Marya for a moment, saw the girl as if it were their first meeting. She saw that Sonya possessed a certain beauty. A gentle face, but with a clear determination in her eyes. Light ginger hair framing her face, only a few shades lighter than her own red curls. Not for the first time in the past couple of days, Marya could see a certain resemblance between the younger girl and herself.

“Marya, are you alright?”, Sonya was the first one to break the silence. “Don’t you worry about me, Sonyushka.” Sonya gently made her way to the sofa. She knew she had disturbed something but couldn’t quite figure out what it was yet. She was set on finding out however. Marya knew the expression on Sonya’s face all too well, but she was not ready to show her everything yet. 

Marya suddenly remembered the scattered cup on the floor. It was too late to hide it and Marya was sure that even if she did, Sonya would find out anyway. She had found out about those letters that scoundrel wrote, all the false promises he made. Once again she found herself vowing she would rip that man apart if she ever saw him again. 

Sonya was only a few feet away when she noticed the broken china. Her eyes grew larger with surprise. This was Marya’s favorite teacup. All in pieces on the ground. Without saying a word, Sonya got on her knees and started to gather the parts. Marya sat down next to her on the ground. She needed to do something. Just sitting there wouldn’t help anyone. It saddened Marya to see her teacup in that state, but she had already made peace with it. It was of no aid to linger in the past. There was only one larger sherd left and both Marya and Sonya grabbed for it at the same time. Both were a bit startled by the sudden touch. Even something this small made them both realise how much they missed contact. Both women had shut themselves out, only making time for those in need. 

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to…”  
“Sonya, it’s fine. No need to be worried.”  
Both women had gotten so used to tiptoeing around others, always putting themselves in second place. Marya picked up the final piece and gently stoked the broken china. Its pearl white background was covered in rich vines with roses and robins. They reminded her in some way of both her goddaughters. One caught in thick thorns, seduced by beautiful appearances. The other one flying around above it all, uncertain what to do. Marya placed the shard back onto the tray and sat down. For the first time, Marya wasn’t quite sure what to say. There was a lot to be said, but this didn’t feel like the right time. She didn’t know if it would ever feel like the right time. Sonya took a place on the sofa next to the older woman.

“Marya, please tell me.” Sonya sounded worried and it made Marya’s guilt only grow. She wanted to tell the truth. She, herself, had no idea what was going on. All the things that had happened seemed so far away, yet the wounds were still fresh. 

Sonya noticed how Marya’s eyes tried to scream what her mouth won't say. She felt the same way. Her mind wandered at a million places at once. With Natasha, with Marya but also with dear Mary.  
She didn’t like to admit it, but ever since she went to talk to her after Natasha’s breakdown about the Bolkonskys, she couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. Sonya, get your thoughts straight, people need you. She was used to carrying other people, and knew Marya did the same. It felt like she loved other people more than she could ever love herself. 

When she saw Natasha coming with ice and rage in her eyes, she had felt so useless and overlooked. All she could do was raise up her sword. She had always thought that things never really die, but now she wasn’t so sure anymore. Her best friend had been so close to death and suddenly it all seemed so finite. Sonya reminded herself that her cousin was safe now, at least physically. She continued surveying the other redhead. Her jaw was clutching and Sonya did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms around Marya.

Marya was completely surprised. Normally, nobody would even dare touching her. Oh the torture of embraces just for the sake of embracing. But this seemed so sincere and Sonya was so gentle. She could do nothing more than return the hug. Marya closed her eyes and let the warmth seep in. It had been a long time for both of them since anyone had touched them. Sonya broke off the embrace. She never expected Marya to return the hug. She just never seemed like the hugging type. If she had to be honest, the older woman had scared her at first, but now she realised even a dragon can’t survive without warmth. 

Sonya took Marya’s hand and told her: “You don’t have to carry a billion people, it seems like you can barely hold your own.”  
“The same counts for you, Sonyushka.”  
“Goodnight Marya.”  
“Goodnight.” 

With those words both Marya and Sonya retreated to their chambers, a little lighter than before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, I hope y'all like it.  
> This one took a little longer, sorry for that.  
> I didn't felt satisfied with it until now but still doubt thing.  
> In this one we deep dive into Sonya's mind.  
> Sonya is one of the harder people to write about for me since she mostly talks about other people instead of herself.  
> But here we go  
> Please keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you guys.  
> Lots of Love Unknown_Sources

Sonya gently closed the door behind her. There was so much more weight on her shoulders than she had ever felt. Now she had talked to Marya, she felt a little lighter. All by herself her thoughts swept her all the way back into the storm. What had she done? She had always thought that Marya hated her, but now... The dragon of Moscow had let her embrace her, the girl who ruined the family fortune, the girl with sacrilegious thoughts, the girl who had remained silent for too long. She thought she could have protected them all, but she had failed, miserably. She would not let it happen again. She needed to be stronger, like Marya. 

Marya had been so kind after all that had happened. Sonya knew that she wasn’t a hero, despite what the people told her. It was Marya who had been the one to help in those crucial first moments. It was Marya who nourished Natasha back to health. Sonya had been a coward. She should have spoken the truth when Marya asked if Natasha was alright. Both women were extremely observative and Natasha's strange state was hard to miss. They might not have talked about it, but they both noticed. Sonya felt so useless, but she had no idea what she could have done differently. Not that she didn’t help where she could, but still… 

Sonya slowly slid down against the wall and took her head in her hands. She couldn’t, she just knew. The weak little thing she is. ‘Sonya is good’, that’s all they ever say. And besides that, just a faint shadow behind Natasha. She wasn’t jealous though, she loved her cousin dearly. But if she was being honest, the invisibility was slowly suffocating her. Though she is a cousin, she is treated more as a friend or a guest. Is she even a real cousin? She had now idea anymore. The Rostov’s seemed to be the only family she knew, yet she seemed only a burden to them. Always lurking around, yet having no real purpose or benefit to the Rostov family. 

There were too many people involved in too many things. She knew it wasn’t her task to take care of them, but taking care of others seemed to come natural. It seemed to be the only thing she could do without harming others. But herself… She didn’t know if her heart would ever heal from all of this. There was no need to save herself until now. She felt the need to cry, but she knew she wouldn’t. Or better, that she couldn’t. She had drowned her own feelings together with the poison Natasha drank. But now in her bedroom, the storm was quickly catching up on her.

It all hit her harder than she expected. Knowing what it had done, not only to her but to Marya as well. She knew that Marya wasn’t the person to open up, but this… The sadness had taken such a stark place in her usual devoted eyes. Sonya knew more than most people might assume of her. She knew of Marya’s secret agenda, but she understood. Some things aren’t meant for the light, and are better kept at bay. Some things are better felt alone. Usually, she could put those things aside, drown them out, but now they hit her harder than ever before. 

The mirror. That damn mirror.

It was such a strange thing. She had thought it would distract Natasha a bit. She would never admit that she was curious about her own future. But she was. The past seemed so far away, yet so close. It seemed to always catch up on her and kick her down when it got close. The future provided a way out, even when unknown. She just needed some safety and security, but how wrong had she been? After that Sunday, things only got worse. That Sunday she had seen something she hadn’t expected.

It was supposed to be a man. It was supposed to be Nikolai. Nikolai and his soppy moon eyes who would stare at her from across the drawing room. Nikolai, who drew her into corridors and told her they’d be married as soon as he got back from the war. But not …. Not… This? Why does everybody besides her seem to be happy? She knew more about pain than happiness. She knew their marriage would be approved of by society, but still, a girl could dream. Besides, what else was she to do? Nobody would want her, that was proven now. Even her Nikolai had left her and for what a war. She wasn’t even as attractive as a war. All her hope scattered on the ground, digging in her feet.

Her own thoughts were making her bleed but she would not cry. Too many tears had already been spilled. But how could she? Look at her. 

The mirror had shown her something she had never noticed about herself and it made her want to throw up. She had seen the long row of candles stretching back into the depths. In the dim confused last square there had been a hidden surprise. No coffin, no man. A woman. She had seen a woman. At first, the shape in the darkness had had no meaning to her. It terrified her, yes, but it had been a blank canvas. Now… Now it had a face. But could she? Would she really take her into her arms? Would she lay her cheek next to hers, feel each other so close, run her hands over her delicate lips and not be sickened by herself? Would she brush her mouth with her lips? Both of them, a prisoner of a long silent war. Her heart is heavy, just like her eyelids. Yet she sees those soft brown eyes when she closes them. Those uncertain eyes looking back at her, heavy on her. Her mind was rushing, but maybe it was best to let the past be the past just a little longer. She got up and crawled back into her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all  
> It has been a while, sorry for the waiting.   
> This one was a little beast to write but nothing we can't handle.  
> I hope you like it and are still invested.  
> Like always feedback is welcome.  
> Love unknown scources

Pierre was sitting in his study, as usual, with a half full bottle of vodka in front of him. His rage had settled. Now he was all alone, his blood had turned cold and doubt came in. He was starting to get worried. It had been several days and he still hadn't heard a thing from his wife’s room. 

He knew nothing really bad could have happened without him knowing – certainly one of the servants would’ve told him if that were the case — but still. There had been so much blood. Too much blood. And all of it was so unnecessary. This was all a giant mistake, just like all the other giant mistakes he seemed to be making constantly. He was nothing more than a sad, tired, old man. Nothing about what happened seemed right, but then again, he had so much unbridled rage in him. Too much rage, he knew it wasn’t all on his wife. That seemed to make this only worse. How could he ever thrust himself? If something happened to his wife, he would never forgive himself. That’s what he had always said, and look at him now. He was a monster. He had made vows to her that night. He had vowed to lift her sorrows, not be them. He had made pledges to the light, not to the darkness. Or at least so he thought.

Could it be that this had already started when he first laid his eyes on her at Anna Pavlovna Scherer’s soiree in Saint Petersburg? He should have listened to himself then, but even all these years ago, it had been a long time since he did that. He had broken faith with Andreii. He should have honored the vow he made never to get married. It all had happened so quickly. Too quickly. A soiree, a death, a conversation over a snuff box and then the vows. He didn’t even have the time to properly ask. And now, he was pushed into the deep.

His thoughts made him reflect on the past. Maybe this had even started much earlier, maybe even back when his father died. He had been so blind then, not because of his grieving but because of his own stupidity. 

He should have known better, but Vasily Sergeyevich Kuragin was a snake. He could finally see that now. He could see now that should have never trusted him or his wicked progeny. Those sly snakes, he should have gotten rid of them much earlier, but it was too late now. He always told himself he used to be better, but he wasn’t too sure of that now. Could he even change? He could try, couldn’t he? He would try. Maybe not for himself but for others. He knew he couldn’t undo his wrongs and that he would pay for it. He was paying for it now. He didn’t expect forgiveness, but he could at least try.   
He finally got up. He was more than aware of the fact that he would be the last person she wanted to see right now, but he needed to face her. If she would let him, he would try to make up for it, but he knew he wasn’t worth it. He would never be worth it.

He opened the doors of his study and stepped outside. His great broad chest breathed deeply in for one final time before he started the great climb to his wife’s chamber. He had no idea what to expect when he arrived there. He made his way up, a little out of breath. His damn corpulence. Though he did notice in that moment that he had slimmed down. His waistcoat didn’t seem to strangle him anymore as it used to. He fetched a sigh. So much has happened. How he wished now he had finished that bottle of vodka. He walked further down the hall and with every step he took, he felt more and more like a stranger in his own house. How did it ever come to this? He arrived at the door and immediately grabbed the door handle to notice it was locked. In his strange state of mind he thought he had been locked out in his own house. The reality of things only slowly reached him. He had locked her in himself, like an animal in a cage. But who was the beast now? He took the key from the hook next to the door and hesitated for a moment. Did he dare to look at what he had done? Don’t be silly, Pierre, it’s just your wife. Why on earth then was he so terrified?

With his renewed confidence he opened the door. He didn’t know what to expect but this wasn’t it. Hélène was asleep. Strangely, this made him think of the first time they met. Skin smooth as marble, always at ease and her mouth always busy. Now, it laid quietly. She had spread herself upon the bed. Her face turned to the window but still visible for him to look at. The way she laid there made him feel more at ease then he expected. It made him want to crawl next to her and whisper that he had been a fool, a monster. It made him want to beg to be spared. Her soft curls were spread out in a halo around her. All traces of the rage and fright disappeared in all that loveliness on her face, her eyes closed like a sleeping angel.

Hélène was slowly waking up. The things that happened were pushed away, deep in her brain. They were trying to make it to the foreground. She softly moaned and tossed around. It scared Pierre. Somehow his presence had awakened the beast. Still he was mesmerized by her beauty. He knew they should have never married, even never met. If only he had followed his feelings… But no, his eyes had deceived him. He hadn’t seen the thorns, only the flower.

Hélène’s head was still heavy, so she opened her eyes slowly. She wasn’t quite aware of what was happening around her. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it seemed like ages. Her heart felt heavy, like all the dust of the past years had gathered upon it. She wasn’t ready to move yet. If she could, she would stay there, safe by herself. 

She heard a heavy breathing and when she turned to see where it came from, she looked right back at Pierre. She couldn’t believe it. How dared he? Was she still dreaming? Or was this something worse? Her still weak body couldn’t handle all the sudden emotions and she fell down. She felt horribly out of control. In an act of desperation she closed her eyes again, wishing everything would go away.  
Pierre was struck by the sudden change. He had never been fluent. Suddenly, everything felt too much. He was too much here, so he retreated. Keep her locked in the cage. Don't let her speak. He knew she would scream in the cage, she would shout. If it meant securing his future, he could let her die in the cage for all she had done. No matter how much pleading. Don't let her out Pierre, just don’t. It was the only thing on his mind. He closed the door loudly. He was a monster and he couldn’t even look at the damage he had done. He was nearly running. He needed to be out of this place as quick as possible. He took just nearly having enough time to grab his fur coat. Out. He needed to get out. Out of this room, out of this house, into the coldness of the Moscow winter. Once again he had fled away from his own damage. He was a coward.

§

Hélène had once again lost all control. She felt a need to cry but even that she couldn’t. She had now officially lost everything, even the little freedom she still had. She was trapped in her own house, in her own room. Trapped in a cage like some sort of wild animal. How could things have become any worse? He had won, he had taken everything from her. And they say she was a monster.  
No, he hadn’t won. Not yet. She still had herself. Once a Kuragin, always a Kuragin, that was nothing her stupid husband could claim. She may have lost her last name to him but not let him take away where it stood for. She would beat him. She would not keep sulking like this. She would take this man down with her fire, once and for all.

Her head didn’t seem to be able to catch up with her feelings. A headache was crawling its way to the foreground. She needed to lie down. She hated this weakness but fighting it now wouldn’t help her. She needed to calm down. Just focus on one thing, Hélène, just one. Breathe. Keep breathing.

§

She looked at the window and saw the snowflakes falling down. So gentle, so distant. The cold, she loved it. The way it felt on her skin. She needed it. In some bizarre way, it made her feel special. She loved how the frost slowly took shape against the window. 

Watching the picturesque scene made her mind drift away, back to her childhood. How she just loved to sit outside in the winter. How Anatole would sit next to her and suddenly throw a snowball in her face. Anatole had never been the type to just be quiet. They were so little, so free. They had the whole world to themselves. 

Usually their maid would try to get them back in the house, but somehow she always failed. The Kuragin siblings just loved to be free. 

This particular time was different though. They had a ball to attend in the evening. Little Hélène hated balls. They were so boring, so plain. She would much rather just stay outside and watch the snow fall. The maid came as usual. Smart as she was, Hélène climbed a tree, in the hopes not to be seen. 

“Princess? Please princess, where are you? Your father will be furious! Come on, Elena, this isn’t fair!”

Ooh this was fair to her. She hated this life of vanity and lies. She wanted to be free. So she remained quiet. 

“Elena, come here or I will have to call your father!” 

Hélène usually feared her father's wrath, but not this time. She had enough from the pretending, the gossip and the secret ways of adults. Vasily was endowed with the rare art of seizing the precise moment when he could and should make use of people. With his daughter it was the same. The imposing form of her father was coming her way. Vasily Kuragin was a man of little patience and he was fed up with his daughter now. 

“Elena, you will come to me! NOW! I will count to three.   
One...”  
Hélène hesitated. She didn’t want to go but she also didn’t want to anger her father even more.  
“Two!”   
She slowly made her way down the tree back to her father.   
“One. You are a fool Elena.” 

Hélène started running. 

“You like the cold so much? Well then you can stay here then! Let’s hope Morozko doesn’t find you.” 

And with those words he closed the door right in front of her. 

“Father no, please let me in! I’ll be a good girl!” 

But no reply came. The wind came on, it looked like a storm was coming. What could she do, she thought while falling on her knees. Behind her the door slowly opened. She looked up and saw her brother's fox-like smile. They would always have each other’s back, even when it meant Vasily’s rage.

§

How she wished to be that free again. How she wished she could dance through life without all those secrets all the time. A dance not celebrating anything or anyone but herself. Something unlike all the balls she hosted herself. 

Except maybe one. A fox, she laughed. She knew someone else who resembled a fox. Someone who she trusted, someone she truly loved.

§

Hélène was standing on the balcony of the ballroom. It was her own ball, but she didn’t really enjoy it. She wore a brand new green silk dress. One of Madame Chambords latest designs. At least no one could criticize her impeccable sense of fashion this evening, so that was something. She had chosen a lighter, more feminine green. Somehow she needed to break a bit with the usual Kuragin green. The colour and the dresses were some kind of armour, but tonight she felt down with it. It had lost most of its value when a crack had formed in her perfect mask. This dress had golden wings glowing on her back. A cupid she was, for all but herself. 

She had invited Natasha for her brother, but also for herself. She could use some company. She had hoped Marya would join, but knew she probably wouldn’t. Marya hadn’t been seen that much at soirees lately. Well, Hélène could try at least. And even when Natasha wasn’t the one she wanted to see that night, she was still better company than most attendees. 

It was then in the middle of all uproar that she saw her. She had come, in spite of everything. It had been quite some time and she hadn’t stopped thinking about her after their chat in the opera. Oh, she would never get tired of that view. How her pale and soft skin always seemed to light up. How her auburn updo framed her face perfectly. Tonight, she wore a crown upon her head, which seemed just right to Hélène. She seemed to have taken an extra effort. Had Marya dressed up for her? She didn’t even expect she would come. She had made it pretty clear to Hélène that she wanted nothing to do with her. She had invited Natasha for her brother, yes, but it was still a surprise to see Marya here. Even though she knew she would never let Natasha go alone. She didn’t blame her for that. To be honest, if she had a protege like Natasha, she would also think twice to let her hang out at a place like a Kuragin soiree. 

Maryas dress was as dark as the night, with subtle dark green embroidery interwoven with hints of the dark red Marya preferred so much. Kuragin green and Dmitryevna red, what a pair they made. Was she mocking her? It was at that moment Hélène cursed herself for organizing a costume tournament. If only she could see her face, then she would know. Marya’s face was obscured with a delicate mask resembling a fox. Of course Marya wouldn’t want to be recognized here, even Hélène could guess that. Luckily for her, she could recognize that face everywhere, obscured or not. Somehow Marya managed to hide that. She strolled inside and placed herself on a chair without giving her true feelings away. She was always so controlled, except maybe sometimes in the past. Hélène had seen another side of her, one that was preserved for lovers. Unfortunately that laid in the past, but Hélène knew it was still there. Deep inside Marya’s chest, the embers were still burning. Now that she had seen Marya again, Hélène was determined to bring that fire back to live. 

It was then she felt a hand on her shoulders, pushing her a bit back into the shadows. She wasn’t afraid, she knew that hand. A hand that seemed rough at first, but was actually quite soft if you really paid attention to it. 

“You threw quite a party, prinsessa ” Fedya whispered in her ear.  
“Fedya, shouldn’t you keep your eyes on my stupid brother?” she replied seductively.  
“I am not the one gazing at the crowd like a scavenger, instead of enchanting them. Looking for a certain prey? I saw her too Hélène.” He said while embracing her from behind. “I know you want her, so go get her. You deserve her. You deserve to be loved.”

Hélène faced Fedya and placed her hand on his cheek. “You deserve so much too. If only that stupid brother of mine…”

He let go of her and tried to wave her away; “Hélène, it is fine, now go before your fox slips away.” 

Hélène descended the stairs. She didn’t want to leave Fedya but she knew he was right. Marya would be gone as soon she got the chance.   
She noticed her brother, her stupid brother, who was waiting on her down the stairs. He reached out his hand and Hélène took it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with someone, my dear?”  
“Dear sister, have patience.”  
“You certainly seemed quite desperate for me to invite her. And Anatole, dear, where is your mask?”  
Anatole was smirking; “Why would I hide this beautiful face of mine? Besides, I could ask you the same question. But I will not. I know what your plans are, sweet sister.”, Anatole said while touching Hélène’s nose.  
“Please don’t burn yourself again.”  
“Dear brother, I should be worried about you. All drooling for a girl who is already engaged. Keep it in your pants will you, for once? Already forgotten what happened the previous time? You are lucky you’re still here with us. I am not the one getting burned, but you, my dear will be roasted. Alive. Besides ,who says I mind a bit of fire?”  
“Oh sweet sister and her wise words.” Anatole said bowing down.   
“You better remember them.” Hélène said while walking away. She kept it cool in front of her brother, but she surely hoped Anatole wouldn’t make a mess again. Not now. She hoped so hard.

She continued walking towards the middle of the room. Upstairs, it had been easier to spot Marya. Down here, you had all the people wanting to compliment and/or mock her. She had no time for them. All the dancers were ruthless and disarranged. Finally, she noticed the familiar red of Marya’s hair. It was something she couldn’t hide. No matter how hard she tried. She had been smart, Hélène thought. Marya had been smart by wearing a crown, but even that couldn’t outsmart Hélène. She had studied the other woman too much, had longed too much, had loved her too much. Even undercover, Marya’s posture was upright like she owned the place. The older woman had something majestic about her, it was hard to describe. Even the way she sat there. The loneliness didn’t seem to affect her, it only seemed to radiate her light even more. It made Hélène want to crawl in her lap, knowing nobody would hurt her.  
Anna Pavlovna suddenly interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Darling, you look brilliant as always. Where did you get that dress made, it suits you brilliantly!”  
“Thank you, my dear. This old thing? You know how Madame Chambord can work her magic with silks.”

From the corner of her eyes, she could see Marya. She knew her time was limited but turning down someone as Anna Pavlovna would be detrimental for her status.

“Hélène, my dear, are you alright? You seem a bit distracted.”  
“I am alright, thank you, just a bit tired I guess. You know how tiring it can be to organize a ball.”

Stupid Anna Pavlovna and her ever fake compliments. Just keep smiling, Hélène. Play this stupid game, but most importantly, beat her. In the corner of her eyes she could still see Marya. Sonya was standing next to her. Hélène never thought so much of the young girl. Now she could see that she indeed was as beautiful as people said. It was no beauty you immediately saw nor something that filled the room like Natasha’s seemed to do. This was something different. It was soft. Sonya wore a simple white dress like always, but the one she was wearing tonight was beaded with soft white pearls. On her face rested a delicate white cat mask. The soft blue tones of the eye holes made her eyes light up. The younger woman did indeed remind Hélène of a small cat, one who was still searching for her claws. Sonya being next to Marya was not a good sign. They seemed busy discussing if they should leave or not. If she wanted to make her move, she needed to do it now. Anna Pavlovna, that damned woman and her endless conversation. She needed to make her stop.

“Yes we do. Especially after your last soiree. What a mess was that. But let’s blame that on the alcohol, shall we?” Hélène said with a smile. “If you would now excuse me?”

Hélène walked away with her usual grace. She had won another battle, but the victory didn't feel as sweet as usual. She looked again at Marya, who was now looking directly back at her. She needed to make her move right now. Hélène could see a sudden panic in Marya's eyes. She got up and walked away. Hélène made her way to her. She was so close but suddenly Marya took Sonya's hand and pulled her on the dancefloor. Hélène had lost her shot. She took a breath and turned around to nearly bump into Dolokhov.

"Fedya, what are you doing?"  
"Saving you. May I have this dance?" Dolokhov said while bowing.  
Hélène grimaced: "You, always."

Dolokhov led her to the dance floor, where the orchestra just started their first notes. The declaration of the start of a new game of cat and mouse. This one of the games Hélène was determined to win. Just a simple count to three and everything would start. Positions taken, straight rows, A deep bow from him and a light one for her, and at last a secret smile between the two of them.  
One, two... 

So the games began. Hélène knew the steps, but it felt like she was dancing them for the first time again. Luckily Dolokhov was by her side. There were four couples between them and Marya, so it was possible. Dolokhov had placed them strategically. Marya would need to switch closer to Hélène or she would go against the strict rules of the dance. And everyone knew Marya was keen on breaking as little rules as possible. Hélène couldn’t help but smile at Dolokhov. He was always the tactician, always the soldier, but yet so much more as well.

And so they danced, each their own part. Both Fedya and Hélène were keeping an eye on the other two women. They kept coming closer to each other, until Hélène nearly could smell Marya. The older woman seemed desperate to get away. Luckily Sonya was keeping her there. The younger girl's face seemed to glow up and Hélène could see why everyone seemed to love her. She just radiated kindness. Hélène had now idea what she would do or say to Marya, but she needed to try something. She needed to know more and deserved to know what she had done that made Marya break all contact the moment the two girls arrived. 

Suddenly the two dance couples were next to each other. Hélène, always the most social one, broke the ice. 

"Marya, Sonya. I am surprised to see you both. I must say, the both of you look exquisite." “Countess Bezukhov and Fyodor Dolokhov what a pleasure to see you both.” 

Hélène could feel the coldness in Marya’s voice, but she would not give up. 

“Now we wouldn’t want to break the chain, would we?” Dolokhov chuckled while taking Sonya’s hand. The girl suddenly turned stone cold but followed nevertheless.

“Shouldn’t the mistress of the house be out there, working her magic?”, Marya said while nodding at the crowd. Hélène could see Marya was trying really hard not to look at her.  
“Oooh dear Marya, how can a woman like you be so beautiful yet so cruel? You look stunning, ma chérie.” Hélène knew she was being bold, but she always was. Well, at least in public.  
“Countess, where is dear Pierre?” Marya said in her usual stern voice.

“Oh no, dear Marya”, Hélène interrupted, “you will not get away that easily. Are you really so desperate to try to hide? Because dear, I could recognize you everywhere.”  
“A smart one you are, but alas, your assumptions are wrong” Hélène could notice a bit of irritation in Marya’s voice, which meant she was doing something right.

“I’m smart enough to know it doesn’t take a seer to tell us something has provoked the dragon”.  
"Sweet little temptress, you" Marya snarled at her while crossing her arms.  
“Come on Marya, dance with me. The earth is still spinning. We can’t just stand on it, ma chérie.”  
“Don’t you chérie me right now, countess.”   
“Don’t be that way,.I would never, my enchantress. I just know what effect I have on you.” Hélène said while reaching out to touch Marya’s hand.  
“Don’t touch me.”  
“There is your fire again, so charming.”.  
“Hélène stop, what we had is dead. Dead, you hear? You know what? We didn’t even have a thing!”  
“It's such a sad thing, The ways these roads part. You know for me, things never ended.”   
“Stop Hélène, stop.” Marya nearly lost her temper. Luckily for her, the dance was over, but there was still so more that needed to be said. Hélène would not give up, not now. She didn’t want to push Marya, but she knew that otherwise she would remain silent. 

So she took the other woman's hand. She expected resilience, but there was none. Had Marya given up or did she finally understand? Hélène made her way through all the spectators, not giving a damn anymore. She needed to go back, back into the shadows where nobody would hurt them. Where they didn't have to try, where they didn’t have to hide. Hélène kept running, she needed to know it now. There was too much uncertainty. Where to go? Not the drawing room. It had been marked by too many people and too many memories. Ah yes, the rooms of the old count. Pierre hadn’t been there since that mad man had died. It was perfect. Hélène didn’t remember how they got there, but remembered how she closed the door. Remembered how ever piece of furniture was covered with a sheet. Forgotten but still not ready to move on. Locking it for the outside world, this was something for them alone. Marya walked to the other side of the room.

“Am I so repulsive to you, my dear?” Hélène said teasingly, but in her undertone one could hear how hurt she was. She knew Marya wasn’t fond of her behaviour, but this?

“Hélène, stop. I mean it.”  
“Marya, hear me out-”  
“No, you will ruin me. Ruin me all over again.”.  
“Marya, stop! Do you hear yourself?” Hélène said, trying to calm Marya. “Stop it, Marya. There are enough cruel people out there.” Hélène said while gesturing in the direction of the crowded room they just fled away from.

“I don’t belong here”, Marya said while gesturing at the space around her. “This isn’t me, it can’t be me. This… This is wicked. It can’t happen.”  
Hélène needed to admit, she had never seen Marya so distressed. “It’s okay Marya. You are safe here, nothing will happen. Come here”, Hélène said while closing the distance between them.  
“No! No, don’t come closer. I’m not supposed to be here. Haven't I done all the things I'm supposed to.”   
Marya seemed to have lost it completely. Even with the mask, Hélène could see how tense Marya was. It seemed like she was fighting herself. She had no idea how to bring Marya back, but she would try. Hélène made her way to the other woman and took her face in her hands.

“Marya, it’s okay. Listen to me.”  
“No it isn't. This is wicked. Unnatural. I need to go away. Make it go away, this feeling, this beast, this… Please?” Marya broke and tears formed in her eyes. “I can’t Hélène, I can’t. I am ruined.”  
Hélène stroked Marya’s cheek and took the woman in her arms. “It’s okay. You are going to be alright listen to me.” Finally, Hélène got it. Marya thought she was broken, even ruined.  
“It is okay to be broken my dear. You don’t have to carry the world. I can carry it with you. Let your beast free. You don’t have to be in control. Marya, I know it snarls and rages, but it’s normal. Let the beast out of her cage. Itr wants to guide you. This feeling in you, it is you. It is okay if you don’t see the light. I see it my dear, even in your darkness.”  
“But, but…”  
“Hush now, just dance with me, will you?” Hélène said while taking the lead, slowly guiding them through the dusty room. It was completely different from the wild and upbeat dance they danced earlier. It was slower but not less passionate. Marya slowly laid her head on Hélène’s shoulder. This wasn’t a strict dance. This was more considerate, like following a heartbeat. This wasn't something you could predict, this was just feeling. Feeling how Marya followed, how she breathed, how her heartbeat slowed down. Hélène knew then that somehow together they would dance through it. Hélène felt Marya move. Marya looked straight at Hélène and whispered: “Thank you.” Words felt unnecessary for Hélèné. So she pressed her lips against Marya’s. It wasn't their first kiss, but it might have been their best. It had been exchanged a thousand and one times in front of their eyes filled with longing before reaching their lips. They had courted each other in the shadows for so long but now. Now, it was different. Still hiding but no longer for themselves. But then, Marya broke away. Confusing was all over her face. Hélène knew she wanted too but couldn’t. So she let her go like the fox she was dressed as.

§

Hélène would always carry that memory with her. It meant so much to her. Not only had Marya allowed her, she knew she loved her. It meant there was hope, even now in all this darkness. There is light inside of them. And Marya would somehow help her. She just needed to be stronger for a bit more. Yet she felt so weak, so lightheaded still. She couldn’t fight it and let sleep take over her weakened body. A little smile still on her face


End file.
